Just Like You
by TheIncredibleNutmeg
Summary: 13 is gone, and House is ready to hire again. But what's up with the new applicant? Set post "Help Me". Huddy/ChaseOC?
1. Lucky Number Seven

"Yep, this looks about right." The woman crumpled the slip of paper, and struggling to keep the stack of books in her hand balanced, stuffed the scrap into her pocket. Job searching was a pain these days, especially with the lack of jobs floating around. She entered the double doors, taking a brief survey of the hospital entrance. "Nice." _Ten o'clock, meeting room five. _She made her way over to the counter, not seeing the man who was running perpendicular to her path.

"Crap!" She was soon on the floor, books scattered around her. The end of her scarf had settled on top of her face, and she blew it away with a frustrated puff of air.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?" the rushed question came from a man who appeared to be in his late twenties—very distinct Australian accent. The woman rose to her feet, smoothing out her clothing.

"Never better," she said. She gave him a quizzical look, her eyes moving from the man to the floor and back to the man again. "Well go on and pick it up doctor…" her sentence trailed off as she squinted at his name tag, "Chase. I don't drop stacks of books for my amusement." She folded her arms, setting a deep-set glare onto him. Chase let out an annoyed sigh, bending down to stack the scattered books.

"Hey." He looked up from his work, the woman hovering over him. She was young, with very distinct blue eyes. The woman bent down, much to Chase's surprise, and began helping him gather her books. "Do you always let complete strangers walk all over you?"

"No, just the ones that I attempt to walk over first," he teased. She choked back a laugh and gave him a half smile. He placed the incomplete stack into her arms. "It's also not nice to be rude to patients."

"Not a patient," she noted. The woman stood up, and sat the books on the counter.

Chase raised an eyebrow, "A librarian?"

"Nope."

"You're looking for a job, aren't you?" he asked. The woman nodded, tucking several strands of dark hair behind an ear. Chase's eyes widened. "You want to work for doctor House."

"Ding-ding, we have a winner," she grinned. Retrieving the stack of books she glanced in either direction. "Meeting room five is where?" Chase rolled his eyes and pointed to her left. The woman headed in the direction Chase gestured, leaving him standing there gaping.

"Do you realize what you're in for?" he asked.

"Judging from your question probably not," she stated, pushing the door open to the meeting room. She walked over to the nearest chair and set her books down, then went down the stairs to the front of the room where cards with numbers were messily piled onto a table. "Lucky number seven… interesting." She strung the card around her neck, and turned to Chase. "Are you one of his team members?" Chase nodded his head. "Well, I look forward to working with you," she said, extending her hand.

Chase took it, "That's quite a lot of confidence you've got there."

"I'll need all the confidence I can get, because I'm guessing your boss-man likes to stomp that out of people," she replied. Several people began filtering in. "I'm Taylor. Danielle Taylor."

"Nice to meet you," Chase gestured with his thumb toward the doorway. More people were entering, and the room was nearly full, "Should probably get going. Before House comes."

"See you around," said Taylor. She made her way back to her seat and plopped down. The chair next to hers had become occupied in her absence by a large nosed woman with frizzy blond hair. Taylor reached into her purse, pulling out a white, rectangular device.

"Is that a PDA?" The woman on her right asked. Her expression was like someone had just put a carton of spoiled milk under her nose. Taylor flipped the device open, and turned it on.

"No, it's an M-Y-O-B," she responded sarcastically. The blond, number 11 sneered. Taylor's hands dropped to her lap and she rolled her eyes. "It's a DS. It's a hand-held video game system."

"Well it doesn't seem very professional," the woman sniffed. Taylor snorted, inching away ever so slightly from her. Looking back down on her game, she smiled. "Ok Sabrina, I hope you're prepared to get your sorry psychic butt kicked." Just as she entered her battle, she heard the doors swing open.

"Good morning. My name is doctor House. As you have probably noticed, you were all assigned a number. Those with numbers 15 through 27 just so coincidentally happen to be men, and as it would happen, the person who just resigned from my team was a woman," Taylor glanced up from her game. A scraggly middle-aged man with a cane was now standing in the front of the room. He scanned his eyes over the room, smirking. "Sorry boys, thanks for playing. You're fired."

An outburst of murmurs irrupted from the room, heads turning in frenzy. Taylor ignored the commotion, focusing on her game.

"Are you serious?" a man from behind her asked.

"Serious as the plague," House mocked. "And I am serious. Get out!" A rustle of closing binders and shifting feet filled the room as eighteen men gathered their belongings and exited. "Okay! Next order of business—wait, did I mention she was pretty? Everyone likes a pretty girl, so that means…three, five, nine, eleven and twelve are also fired…and two. She's got funny eyebrows."

Eleven, flushed in anger, spoke out, "You cannot deny us the right to an interview based on our looks…or our gender!"

"By any other interview…no, but I'm the one whose hiring you. Well, in this case, not hiring you," said House. He sat down on the desk, and began twirling his cane. "Besides, who in their right mind would want to work for a guy who blatantly called them ugly?" The woman snapped her note book shut and stomped out of the room, the rest filtering out behind her. A few other numbers that were called followed as well. House smiled, "Six of you left then. Awesome. I think that's the most people I've narrowed down ever in one sitting…of course I've only ever done this once before, and I was looking for three team members." House flipped his cane up in the air and caught it. "Gather 'round, campers, don't be shy. Need you all in the front so we can start the evaluation process." Taylor snapped her DS shut, and surveyed the stack of books she had brought along, deciding to leave them where they were. However, she took the top piece of the stack, which was her notebook, and moved down to the front row. She unzipped her purse and picked up from where she had left off.

House began lecturing: "Let me tell you a story I told a group of med students a few years ago about legs. Three patients, six pairs of legs, though for this simulation one pair ought to do the trick," House paused, staring directly at Taylor. The woman on her left gave her a nudge and she looked up from her DS. "What makes you think you're allowed to play video games during a job interview?"

"What difference does it make if I'm playing a game or jotting down useless notes of every word you say like that suck up all the way at the end?" Number four, a very thin Asian woman, immediately stopped writing. Taylor closed her DS, tucking it into her purse. "While I am able to multitask well, you do take some priority over Pokémon."

"Aw stop, you're making me blush," House remarked smarmily. Just about to further his case, he paused, "Got a PSP?"

"Sitting at home on top of my kitchen counter," replied the woman, smiling.

"Huh," said House, scratching the back of his head. "If you know any good games, let me know later. Anyways, middle aged man comes in with leg pain. What's wrong with him?"

"Most likely cause for leg main is muscle trauma," said number thirteen.

"Your obvious answer put the old thirteen to shame," said House.

An Indian woman, number one, spoke up, "Well, shouldn't we have taken a history?"

"Yes, but that only tells us what it tells us. Patient could be lying. Though I give you more props that bad Thirteen replacement over there." House continued spinning his cane.

Taylor scrunched her eyebrows in concentration, "Most likely source of the pain is where the pain is coming from. Check the leg."

"Bing! Two points to Seven. Double Jeopardy bonus—Farmer Brown's got a puncture on the leg…" House flicked his wrist and extended his hand, motioning to Taylor.

"Could be a snake bite," said Eight.

House stared at eight, "I wasn't asking you."

"The guys a farmer, right? He's not that much of an idiot not to know that there are snakes out and about the farm. You're not going to ignore a sudden shooting pain in your leg and not bother to look down at it," said Taylor. She grabbed a pen from her pocket and began twirling it. "Snake bites are common…what did the bite look like?"

"A bloody blotch with some bruising around the broken skin."

"Then it's not a snake bite. A snake bite would have two puncture holes, also likely to start causing a spiked fever or paralysis. So suppose Farmer Brown knew about the bite."

"Why would he know about the bite and not tell anyone?" Four questioned Taylor.

Taylor stopped spinning her pen, "He didn't want anyone to know about the bite. If… if it was a dog bite, it would have to be reported. So on that farm… he had a dog."

"Eee-yi-eee-yi-oh," House retorted, snorting. "Number Seven isn't an idiot. And despite recently graduating from med school, shows much more progress than the students I lectured five years ago." House had stopped spinning his cane now, and begun dropping the end of in the floor rhythmically. "Though I am a little disappointed, we missed a whole bunch of screw ups."

"You said the skin looked like it was bruised?" asked Taylor. House nodded. "If it's a dog bite it wouldn't normally be that serious, but based on your story it probably was. I would clean the bite and monitor it, see if anything abnormal happens."

House ran his tongue over his teeth, "The bruising wasn't bruising, and it's gotten bigger."

"Necrotizing fasciitis," Taylor said after a split-second. "It's very possible for it to live in a dog's mouth. I'm assuming it hasn't spread too much, so start the patient on strong broad-spectrum antibiotics, remove the infected area immediately. If it still doesn't clear up, you'd have to amputate his leg."

"Which they did," said House. "But only after the bite had developed into a large, gaping, rotting flesh wound. You, however, saved the patient's leg."

"I got lucky," said Taylor. She flipped open her notebook, and started scrawling in it.

"And now you're starting to sound like Cuddy," House hopped off the desk, and began to hobble out of the room.

Eight piped up, "You're just going to leave?"

"Isn't it obvious?" House turned back to the six doctors, all of them with their eyes hard pressed on house except for Taylor. "Doctor Seven here has clearly _wowed_ me with her diagnostic skills. So much so that I'm going to keep her on for a week before deciding to hire her. If she just got lucky like she said though, you'll each receive a phone call next week."

"This is ridiculous…"

"Who does this guy think he is?"

The buzzing in the room picked up as House turned around and took two more steps before turning back to them. "Seven—Doctor Taylor, be at my office at six AM sharp. We'll discuss games before the rest of the hommies arrive."

Taylor grinned, and gave House a salute, "Aye Aye, Captain."

XXXXXX

House had hoped the interview would have been short, but he hadn't even predicted that it would have been this quick. He'd promised Cuddy he would meet her for lunch at noon, only for her to remind him that he shouldn't be screwing around with the new applicants, and that he should take his time. As House pushed through the doors, he spotted Chase sitting on a bench: a cup of coffee in one hand and another sitting beside him. What are you doing down here?" asked House. Chase took a sip and sighed.

"Wanted to see how the interview went," he answered.

"Funny, I don't peg you the type to bring me coffee," House quipped. He sat down next to chase, leaning his cane on his good leg. "Already got the color's picked out for the living room."

"You found a new fellow this fast?" There was a bit of shock in Chase's voice.

"Who's the coffee for?" House countered. Chase rolled his eyes and shook his head, picking up both coffees and standing up. House ignored the response, and this time shouted. "Who's the coffee for?"

"To cheer someone up, because you probably weeded her out of your applicants without hesitating and broke her heart," replied Chase. Five distinctly upset women passed through the door one-by-one, until finally Taylor emerged from the double doors, a small smile on her face.

Chase nearly dropped the coffees. "Are you…"

"Team House, real men don't sparkle," she responded wittily. Her smile spread when she saw the cups of coffee in Chase's hand. "Are one of those for me? I like tea a lot better, but the gesture was nice." Chase's lips parted as his mouth stood gaping. Taylor swiftly grabbed the coffee out of the perplexed Aussie's hand and headed off in the direction of the Hospital entrance.

"See you two tomorrow!"


	2. That's What She Said

A/N: ok real quick peoples! I have little knowledge of medical stuff (so please bear with me on the scenes that have that). Also: these chapters aren't finalized, they were put up for a friend to review, so don't be surprised if stuff changes in the next few days. If you're reading this, I am very flattered!

XXXXXXX

"**You already hired someone?**"

"Shh, don't you know that you're supposed to keep your voice down in public places?" Despite the chill from the onset of autumn, House and Cuddy were situated outside a café about a ten minute walk from Princeton Plainsboro. House already knew that the likelihood of Cuddy having a positive reaction to his news was near to impossible, but it had been worth a try. When Cuddy slammed her hands down on the table, her spoon toppled over, leaving a red stain of clam chowder on the nice white tablecloth. "She was the only one in the room who wasn't—"

"—A complete idiot?" Cuddy finished for him.

"Yeah," said House. "That and she was able to diagnose the Famer story without amputating the leg, figured out it had been a dog bite. Did it surprisingly fast."

"She was lucky," Cuddy observed, placing her spoon onto the sauce.

"That's what she said," House cracked. Cuddy did not look amused. "No I'm serious, that's what she said!"

"Then why did you hire her?" The dean of Medicine's voice had calmed down, her pale blue eyes still fixed on House's face. He allowed her to stare for a few moments before shrugging and taking a bite of his sandwich. "House, you can't be pulling this kind of crap with me and expect to get away with it."

"Does that mean were not having sex tonight?" House asked with some disappointment.

"Greg…"

"I know, I know. Still deflecting, still being a jerk," House mused. He took a sip of water, and swished it around in his mouth thoughtfully before swallowing. "No one knows yet that we're together right?"

"Not even Wilson," she said. "Though he did tell me once that you seemed different somehow and even though most people know that I'm not engaged anymore, they still couldn't put two and two together, thankfully. I already have enough on my plate as it is between taking care of Rachel, work—"

"Banging your employee," added House, wiping his face with a napkin. "Also being madly in love with a very handsome doctor…wait, are those two the same person?" Cuddy rolled her eyes and grabbed House's hand, a little greasy from the sandwich.

"I hope you made the right decision."

"Yeah… me too…"

XXXXXX

It was a brisk walk in from Taylor's car to the entrance of Princeton Plainsboro, much colder than yesterday. She had woken up at two in the morning to her dog whimpering to go outside. He could cross his legs all day long but during the night, he enjoyed torching her with lack of sleep. Judging from the way House acted the day prior, she deduced that appearances didn't matter and wore jeans and black converse to work (at least the blouse was nice). House had also called last night, letting her know that she should arrive early to sign some paperwork with the dean of medicine before heading to his office.

"Doctor Cuddy's office is in the Clinic straight back," said the woman at the desk. Taylor thanked her and was soon standing outside of Cuddy's office, lights turned off and door locked. Taylor banged her head against the door, groaning.

"Sorry I'm late, are you here to see me?" Danielle turned to see a somewhat frazzled woman in her early forties headed towards her. There were bags under her eyes and her clothes looked disheveled, like she had crumpled them into a wad and let them sit for hours.

"Yeah, House called last night," said Taylor, taking a side step to allow the woman fussing with her keys to open the door. "He said I had to go over some paper work with you."

"Then you must be Danielle Taylor," Cuddy noted, pushing a key into the hole. She jostled the door handle, but it didn't budge. "Wrong key…"

"Rough night?" asked Taylor. She watched Cuddy struggle between opening the door and keeping hold of her enormous brief-case. "Do you want me to hold that?"

"No it's fine. My night was…well, parts of it were rough. Just had a difficult time getting out of the door this morning," Cuddy said. She finally managed to unlock the door, and flicked the lights on before striding over to her desk and setting the case down. "Children can be demanding. Sometimes they want things at the most inappropriate times… I also had to come in early to schedule a flight to Michigan University."

"What for?" Taylor took a seat in front of Cuddy's desk. Cuddy was confused by the sudden peak of interest, but immediately shrugged it off.

"They want me to do a speech for the new pre-med students. I attended there as an undergraduate in 1986 until 1990." Cuddy began leafing through a stack of papers, oblivious to Taylor's expression. Her eyes had widened dramatically, and she was staring intently at Cuddy. Cuddy then looked up from her desk, confused. "Are you alright?"

"Oh…yeah," she snapped out of her trance, "I um…I know this sounds rude, but I think I saw you yesterday and…weren't you wearing those same clothes?"

"Massive laundry back-up," Cuddy responded a little too quickly. She took a stack, straightened them and handed it to Taylor. "I just need you to fill these out and sign pages three and five, that's about it. If you can get them back to me by tomorrow, that'd be great."

"Yeah, no problem…" Taylor took the stack from Cuddy's hand, and tucked it into her notebook.

"If you stop at desk outside, they can give you your lab coat," said Cuddy as a last thought.

She pushed out from her chair, and turned to leave. Still in the doorway, she turned back to Cuddy briefly, "I'm guessing you don't want me to mention to anyone that you're seeing doctor House?"

Cuddy's mouth dropped. "I-"

"Next time bring a change of clothes," said Taylor, exiting Cuddy's office. _I wonder…_ Taylor shook her head abruptly, her shaggy hair falling in front of her eyes. She quickly retrieved her lab coat, and entered the elevator. Taylor ripped open the plastic, shook out the coat and thrusted her arm into the sleeve. The elevator blipped and the doors opened just as she finished putting on her coat. House was sitting as his desk when Taylor reached his office, throwing a green and red ball up in the air. The woman took in a deep breath, and pushed the glass door open.

"Morning," Taylor announced. House caught the ball and set it back down on his desk, looking up at her. "You're supposed to make noise so that the animal is aware of your presence. Otherwise it might get surprised and attack."

"Well you should've seen me before I got of the vicodin," House shot back.

Taylor raised an eyebrow, "You didn't bring me here to discuss games, did you?"

"Very good," said House. He grabbed his cane and a binder, and walked into the next room. Taylor reluctantly followed. House slapped the binder down on the table. "So how is it exactly that a twenty-three year old girl raised in Michigan by a single mom is able to skip the third grade, graduate with a B.A. by eighteen and make it onto my team with only a year of being an actual doctor under her non-existent belt?  
Taylor smiled quietly, "You're asking me? You're the one who looked at my file. It's your case."

"I need a team," House replied, nodding to her. "Thirty-six year old woman presents with chronic headaches and seizure. No history of epilepsy," House walked over to his white board and began scrawling down the information. Taylor opened her notebook to a clean page and began jotting down things. The sound of a door opening broke her attention from writing as an African American man walked into the office and sat down two seats from her.

"Are you new?" asked the man.

Taylor smirked, "Did I lose my sheen already?"

"Foreman, Taylor. Taylor, Foreman," House indicated pointing from one to the other. "Okay, need suggestions."

"Well," said Taylor, still writing in her notebook. "MRI for brain cancer, blood test for any indication of heavy metals, and if she start's presenting more symptoms, there's a whole bunch of other things it could be but we won't know until we get them." Taylor brushed the hair out of her eyes and turned to Foreman. "Sorry for not introducing myself, I'm Danielle Taylor." She extended her hand to Foreman, who took it.

"Eric Foreman. I've been working with house for over six years," said Foreman.

"You forget to mention it's been sunshine and lollipops ever since then," said House sarcastically. "Foreman, test the blood for heavy metals. Taylor—and Chase, get an MRI."

"By now I should be used to walking in the door and already being told what to do," Chase said. Taylor grabbed the binder off the table, and followed Chase out the door.

"Room five o' three," Taylor said, flipping through the binder before Chase could ask. "So I'm taking that's House's default mode?"

"You'd be correct," Chase answered. "I've worked with him just as long as Foreman. Though he has gotten better."

"He was worse before?" Taylor laughed. She avoided a nurse who wasn't looking where she was going, and the two rounded the corner at the end of the hall.

"Hard to believe, I know," he said. Chase politely tugged at the file and Taylor let him take it from her. He began thumbing through it while she pressed the button for the elevator. "Though on occasion he does act…human, as of late. Starting to scare people."

"Any big changes in his life?" asked Taylor, forcing interest into her voice.

"He was addicted to vicodin for quite some time, but he got off of it about a year ago…still doesn't explain recent happenings. I'd assume it might have something to do with Cuddy breaking it off with her fiancé—he's always had a thing for her."

"Oh, I see," Taylor said, pretending not to know what she had learned from earlier this morning.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but the way you act sometimes reminds me of House," said Chase. They entered the patient's room—an average looking woman with dirty blond hair was lying in the bed, reading. Taylor flipped open the file and clicked her pen.

"Good morning Mrs. Williams, I am Doctor Taylor and this is Doctor Chase. Feeling any better today?" Taylor's voice held a decent amount of sincerity in it.

"A little," said the woman, looking up from her book. "Feeling a little nauseated."

"Probably the hospital food," Taylor joked, writing. "We're going to take you down to get an MRI and check out your head. Make sure nothing's up there that's causing the headaches and the seizure you had last night."

"You think there's something wrong with my head?" Mrs. Williams quivered.

"With only two symptoms…well, three at this point. There isn't any way to be sure, but one way or another we're going to figure out what's going on," Taylor clicked her pen and slid it onto the file. "Somehow, I have a feeling this is going to be a long day," Taylor whispered to chase as they began to wheel Mrs. Williams out of the room.

XXXXXXX

2:00 AM THURSDAY

House's team sat quietly in the office—a combination of lack of sleep and lack of ideas had stripped them of any energy they had. Mrs. Williams' illness was progressing fast, and everything they had thought of so far had been nothing more than a misdiagnosis. Chase sat in the corner, fighting off sleep while watching House and Taylor. They were sitting in the same relative position, with the same contemplative expression on their faces—House was thumping his cane on the floor and Taylor was flipping her pen in her hand. It was an eerie similarity between the two, almost funny enough for Chase to make a comment, but it was far from an appropriate time to do so.

"What if…" Taylor began, her voice trailing off at the end of her sentence. She stood up abruptly and began pacing the floor before her. She stopped, eyes widening, and then bolted over to the white board, furiously erasing what they had written down. Everyone was watching her now. House, surprisingly, had not made a comment about her touching the board. Taylor uncapped the marker, and started writing down a couple of symptoms. She then drew several different branches and wrote down symptoms or diagnosis, creating a web of words. Some were scratched out and some were circled. "We checked for this here, but that only put her into respiratory distress which lead to our next symptom. This could have been wrong, and this here—" She circled 'neck stiffness' "Could have been a symptom. She can't straighten her legs…" Taylor began tapping the pen against the white board for a moment, then stopped and sighed deeply. She wavered before writing one last thing on the board. "Acute Vilyuisk Encephalitis—explains why she had the symptoms so suddenly. It has an incubation period of about fifteen years. We should test her for it."

"There's…there's no cure for that," said Taub, his face in his hand. "She could have months…days even."

Taylor closed her eyes. "We're here to diagnose, not to treat," she repeated what House had said earlier that day. Taylor looked at House, only a few feet from her, looking like a dog that had been kicked multiple times.

"Run the test," said House. But the way he had said it carried the notion that he already knew Taylor's diagnosis had been corrected. Foreman and Taub slowly rose to their feet and left the office. House hobbled over the board and erased it, then stared down at Taylor, "Touché."

"Beginner's luck," she stated softly and folded her arms across her chest. "I can break the news to her and the husband if you want."

"I'll do it," House said. His delivery lacked the powerful punch of sarcasm Taylor had grown accustomed to in the past few days. She was a bit freaked out as House left the office.

"Was that one of those times where he's been acting human?" Taylor asked, beginning to pack up her things. Chase nodded, and sat down again, picking up and dropping his clipboard down as a reflex. "Think he still needs us?" The man shook his head, leaning back in his chair and closed his eyes. Taylor frowned, and shook his arm. "C'mon, don't fall asleep on me."

"I should be used to not sleeping by now," Chase responded weakly.

"We all have our days," said Taylor. She frowned again when Chase didn't open his eyes, proceeding to punch him in the arm. He grunted. "Get up. If you're too tired, I'll drive you home. Just don't lie around here so pathetically. Patients die—all the time."

"Then why are you crying?" Taylor turned to Chase, and wiped her cheek with the back of her sleeve.

"I…I don't know."

XXXXXXX

11:17 PM THURSDAY

"Rachel sleeping?"

"Finally," Cuddy sighed, throwing her robe onto the nearest chair. She slid into bed. "What's wrong?"

"Vilyuisk Encephalitis…why hadn't I thought of that?" House was sitting upright next to her in a t-shirt, looking rather disgruntled. "I mean I would have thought of it. Eventually. That kid beat me to the bunch."

"Beginner's luck," Cuddy said, turning onto her side.

"That's what she said—"

"Would you cut it out with the 'that's what she said' jokes? You're not twelve!" Cuddy reprimanded. But she couldn't see House's expression from how she was laying.

"Sorry." The apology was uncharacteristic for House, but lately he had been out of character. Ever since things changed with Cuddy. He turned off the light on the nightstand and slumped down onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't until he felt her hair brush against his chin and her arm wrap around his torso that he could relax.

"You afraid she's better than you?" Cuddy asked softly.

House scoffed, "No one's better than me."

"I know," she answered. He waited silently, until Cuddy fell asleep, before finally closing his eyes.


	3. 140 dollars, 20 questions, 1 bad timing

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I am very happy being told that my writing is good. (No, I am not a total sucker for compliments *ahem*) Anywhoo, I feel more and more inspired to finish my actual manuscript of a book I am writing. So please keep the comments coming! (Constructive ones too!)

XXXXX

"Wow."

Taylor scrunched her eyebrows, "Find something?" They had been testing the patient's blood for various infections since early that afternoon. It was almost six thirty. With no response, she pulled away from the microscope, looking over her shoulder at Chase.

"No, I just realized—you've been here for two whole weeks now," Chase marveled, leaning back in his chair and brushing his lips against his fist.

"Is that medically relevant to the patient's problem?" Taylor asked, pulling another culture from the shelf. "Brandon is negative for Tularemia. Shit, whatever's killing him is extremely elusive."

"We should go to dinner and celebrate," suggested Chase. "You know. She's survived the first two weeks."

"Chase is right…" said Taub, tossing away some garbage. "He hasn't fired you, threatened to fire you…or even called you an idiot. Are you sleeping with him?"

"Ew," was her immediate response. Taylor peered back into the microscope, frowned, and wiped a smudge off her glasses. She had switched to them because her eyes had been extremely dry in the morning. "You think I'm into that stuff? Sleeping around with old—wait," Taylor lifted up a blood sample, her eyes widening. "This guy's testing positive Eosinophilic Meningitis, with the other symptoms…" She pushed back from the desk, her bare feet hitting the cold floor as she jammed her feet into her black flats. Taylor rushed towards the door, but was pushed back by House entering.

"Tested positive for Eosinophilic Meningitis?" House asked gruffly. Taylor placed a hand on her hip and shoved the results into House's open hand. He snatched up the paper, eyes scanning it. "Cool." House's arm dropped to his side and he erected his posture, shouting at the remainder of his team. "Angiostrongyliasis, guys been eating raw mollusks. Give him a cocktail of anti-parasitics, steroids and pain meds, he should be bouncing back in no time."

"I think Taylor was just about to tell you," said Foreman, snapping a large book shut. House frowned, patting his pockets.

"Sorry. Left my gold stars in my other pants pocket," House retorted. He made a mocking face, looking at Taylor. "You're not mad, are you?"

She snorted, "That I beat you to the punch…almost twice now? We should start keeping score. If you lose, I can take your job." House chuckled briefly before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Taylor smirked, and poked her head out of the lab door, yelling down the hall, "I SO BEAT YOU! THAT'S TWO FOR TWO! I'M ASKING CUDDY FOR YOUR POSITION NEXT TIME!" She was balanced on the tip of her right foot, her left one extended all the way off the ground. House didn't react to her shouting after a few seconds, so she closed the door, only to jump back and collide with it when all three guys were staring at her. "What?"

Foreman, Taub and Chase erupted into laughter. A widespread grin formed on Taylor's face, and she joined in the laughter. "He looked a little irritated," Foreman noted, trying to conceal his smile.

"A bit more than irritated," Taub added. He began picking up the unused cultures, throwing them into the biohazard bins. "What's weird," said the balding man, taking a few items from a desk near Taylor, "is that I think he has a soft-spot for you."

"House doesn't have any soft spots," Foreman argued, the giggles finally dissipating.

Taylor began cleaning up her area, "I dunno. He looks kinda squishy." Foreman stared at her and she lowered her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. "I know, you're jealous. It's okay to admit you have a problem." As she put away the last of her belongings, she slapped Foreman on the shoulder playfully. Taylor let out a distinct sigh, and threw her lab coat onto the nearest stool. "So…you guys really want to go out to dinner?" Taylor arched an eyebrow. "Or is this some sort of secret code and Chase is actually asking me out on a date?"

Chase let out a small, awkward laugh, "No. Just can't remember the last time we all went out to dinner together."

"Okay, that's _two_," Taylor announced very obviously. "Taub?"

"My wife trusts me staying out at night about as far as she can throw me," said Taub, removing his lab coat and folding it over his arm. "She can't throw me."

Taylor rolled her eyes, "Foreman?"

"I have some papers I need to write that need to be sent in tomorrow," said Foreman. He had already loosened his tie and was turning off lights. "Sorry."

"Seriously?" Both Taub and Foreman were already heading towards the door. Taylor stomped her foot on the ground and ran to the exit, standing firmly in front with her arms spread out. "You two are acting like old coots! It's not even seven. Foreman—your papers aren't going to evolve, sprout legs and run away. No matter what House says. Taub, it won't kill your wife if you don't come home till eight. At least stay for a few drinks and some potato skins!" Taylor watched both men's expressions soften slightly. Foreman tried to tug on her arm but she turned to him and made her eyes as big and doe-like as humanly possible.

Foreman gave Chase a look and Chase shrugged, "I didn't know she could make that face. It's incredible."

"First round is on me?" Taylor offered, forcing a pathetic tone.

"That face is hard to resist," Taub sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I'm in." This caused Taylor to focus all of her energy on Foreman.

Foreman took in a sharp breath, and wrinkled his nose. He closed his eyes, exhaling, "Fine." Taylor cheered, snatched up her lab coat and practically skipped out the door.

"I'll meet you guys downstairs!" She called, bounding out of the lab.

"She's got a lot of energy," Chase commented, shaking his head.

"Wonder how long that'll last..." Foreman furthered. He stretched, and pushed open the door. "See you in five."

XXXXXXXXX

There was little activity in McNeillie's. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was a Tuesday. The pub/restaurant was well kempt—a young couple with their two children sat on the far end of the restaurant, their two year-old daughter gnawing blissfully on a blue crayon. Two blond women were situated at the bar, chattering and downing martinis, one of them occasionally glancing over her should and eyeing the team's table, who would frequently burst out into rounds of laughter. The laughter becoming more frequent as the occupants of the booth furthered in their self-intoxication. Save Taylor, who had switched to tea after sipping down half a glass of chardonnay.

"Only a sophisticated lady drinks one glass of wine at a pub," slurred Foreman, sipping at his beer. One of the blond twins—the one wearing a teal scarf around her neck, eyed up their table again. Foreman grinned, "Man, Chase. She is _totally_ checking you out!"

"No, no, no—is' Taylor she's making eyes at," said Chase, popping a fried mushroom in his mouth. He patted Taylor on the shoulder, and laughed. "She's not sophisticated; she's just having a fun time seeing us pissed."

"Oh Chase, you spoiled my devious plan," she said in a complete monotone voice, then laughed. "Someone has to drive you three home. I don't do drunk really well either."

"I…I think they're just jealous because a lovely lady has three good looking men on either side of her," giggled Taub, and patted Taylor on the hand. The expression reminded Taylor of her grandfather. "Such a nice girl."

Foreman, still smiling wildly, reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I say—" the man thumbed through his wallet, "Twenty bucks that Chase can get her number." Taub whistled and the guys hollered and nudged each other.

"I'll double that amount," said Taub, throwing forty dollars into the center of the table. The edge of the bill hit the artichoke dip, soaking it up slightly.

"Eighty dollars and I think _I_ can get her number," Taylor tossed in her money. "Oh, and Foreman and Taub pay the bill."

"You drive a hard bargain my friend," said Foreman. He squinted at her, "Are you a lesbian?"

"No. But people tell me I have a gift at detecting gay people," said Taylor, motioning for Chase to scoot. "Not a very helpful gift if you ask me." The dark-haired girl stood perfectly sinew, then began slinking over to the counter. Only before half way she turned back to the boys, "Oh and— I never lose bets."

"Now who does that remind you of?" Foreman sniggered in reference to House. The three men watched as Taylor casually slid onto the stool next to the girl. Taylor shrugged her shoulders, and asked the bartender for something. Meanwhile, the woman with the teal scarf turned to her friend, giggling and occasionally glancing at Taylor.

Taub's face fell first, "Damn…"

Foreman waved his hand in the air, shushing him, "It's not over yet."

Chase laughed, "It is." The scene played out perfectly: Taylor turned to the girl, flipping her hair back and smiling. Her lips started moving and the two of them shared a laugh. The female doctor's eyes flickered up and down the other girl's form, and finally the blond reached and to her purse, retrieving a pen and a piece of paper.

The smile on Foreman's face vanished, "I can't believe it." The blond coyly folded the piece of paper and slipped it to Taylor, who winked at the blond and retrieved her drink—some sort of fruity cocktail, then sashayed back to them and slapped the piece of paper down on the table. The noise jolted the three drunken men out of their stupor.

"Call it," she dared them, and scooted back in next to Chase, sipping her drink with a smug look on her face.

Chase smiled angelically, propped both elbows up on the table and rested his face on his hands, looking at Foreman and Taub. "Go on," he said innocently. Foreman shook his head, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number and concealed the phone underneath the tablecloth. Everyone cautiously watched the bar. Not a few moments passed and the blond that Taylor had flirted with dug into her purse and pulled out a ringing phone.

Foreman groaned and snapped his phone shut. "Damn." Taub buried his face in his hands. Chase continued laughing, while Taylor raked in the money.

"Told you so!" She sung, pocketing the one hundred and forty dollars. "Hey, at least I'm still paying for the first round!"

"Yeah, what round is it? Six?" Chase turned to Taylor and they high-fived. Foreman leaned back, groaning. Taub still had his face in his hands.

"We could still see if she gives Chase her number," Taylor wagered. Both Foreman and Taub gave her incredibly apprehensive looks. Taylor shrugged, "I seriously think the chick's bisexual, but hey, it's your loss. Well… I can give you the booby prize. Twenty questions, ask me anything. Chase gets the two bonus ones cuz he wasn't an idiot."

"Fine," said Foreman, trying to shake the sloshing feeling the alcohol gave him. "Where did you go to school?"

"Waste of a question—could have easily bribed someone to look at my file," Taylor pointed out. "If you must know, I took courses when I was in high school. Transferred to Benedictine to finish up my B.A. Then I went to UIC until I was twenty-one and received my doctorate's."

"So you graduated early?" Taub clarified.

"Yes, thank you for playing. Question number three, Chase—shoot," Taylor pointed to Chase, and Taub grunted, pounding the table at his lost question.

"If we're lucky to remember all of this tomorrow," Chase laughed. "What do you do when you're not being a doctor?"

"Oh you know, breathing, sleeping…" Chase frowned at her, and she snorted. "I like cooking. If I hadn't become a doctor, I would've become a chef. I also play piano, game, and like to draw funny doodles of my colleagues in that notebook I carry around."

"That's mature," Taub grunted.

"You won't remember it tomorrow," Taylor reminded him, "Back to Foreman."

"Do you like House?"

"Doctor Crankypants? He's fun," said Taylor sincerely. They all stared at her oddly, and she shrugged. "You guys were the ones' who told me he hasn't called me an idiot."

"Yet," noted Taub, "Did you sleep with House?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"_No_. Gawsh, what's wrong with you Chase? Minus one point for asking a dumb question," Taylor chugged down the last of her drink, and helped herself to some onion rings. "What question are we on…seven? Back to Foreman again."

"If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?"

"Hm. Probably Greece: tasty food, sun, ocean, and incredibly hunky men," Taylor answered. "Eight?"

"Did you ever do drugs?"

"Yes. Very heavily—nearly killed me, I don't do them anymore."

"Did you ever hurt someone?"

Taylor paused. She averted her eyes to the floor, then back up, "Yes."

"How badly?" Foreman was genuinely intrigued now.

"That's ten—Badly enough," Taylor said as quickly as possible. All three men shook their heads, indicating that her answer wasn't valid. "He died."

"How?"

"I was driving, and I was intoxicated. Get the picture?"

"Did you love him?"

Taylor's cheerful attitude was sapped by the bombardment of questions. She bit her lip. "Yeah."

"Who was he?" Chase furthered.

"You already asked your question," she muttered.

Chase shook his head, "I'm using the bonus one—who was he?"

Taylor choked on her next sentence. "My fiancé." The group grew steadily silent, refraining from asking any more questions. Chase put an arm on Taylor's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," said Chase. Taylor shook her head.

"No don't be. It was a good question. You earned your other point back," a small tear rolled down her cheek and she shrugged it off. "What was it…thirteen?"

"Do you want to stop? Asked Foreman.

"No. Fourteen?"

"Do want to go out with us again after this?" Taub asked glumly.

Taylor laughed, patting her face dry with the back of her hand. "Yes." A smile was back on her face again. "Chase?"

"Why did you come here?"

"Good one," Taylor motioned over the waitress and ordered another drink—vodka, she was in need of it. "I heard about doctor House from a colleague. The colleague hated him, of course, but said he was brilliant. I got curious. I heard there was a job opening from a friend, and I applied. Plus a change of scenery was in order."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. Just me and my mom."

Taub chimed in with question seventeen, "What happened to your dad?"

"He died when I was two. I didn't find out about him until I was twelve." The waitress returned with Taylor's drink, and she thanked the woman. "And don't worry, I don't remember well enough to get all teary-eyed about it."

"Why?" asked Chase.

"My mom was kind of traumatized by the whole ordeal. She hid the photos partly for herself and partly for me. I found them one night when I was cleaning out the closet upstairs. Guess she never had the nerve to throw them away."

"Do you look like your mom or your dad?"

Taylor hesitated with the next question, and took a slip of her drink. "Neither. My mom…she's a ginger and has brown eyes. When I found the picture's of my dad… it turns out he was blond. Also had brown eyes. It was that point in my life when I found out I was adopted," Taylor took another sip of her drink. "No clue who my real parents are. Chase gets the last question."

By now, Chase had formed a very hardened look. Taylor studied him carefully—she knew he wanted to ask her something meaningful, something very personal. But instead, his last question was quite the opposite.

"If you had to sleep with any of us, who would it be and why?" Chase asked, drumming his fingers on the table. Taylor sighed with relief, but Chase was still boring holes in her with his eyes.

"Letsee. Chase, because you have a funny accent. Foreman because he's got this dominance issue and Taub, because he's programmed to do it," Taylor answered with ease. Taub and Foreman laughed, and Chase sort of giggled along with them.

"No seriously, if you had to pick between the three—"

"That wasn't your question," Taylor indicated. She finished her Vodka, and pulled her coat from the hook next to the table. "Well gentlemen, I bid thee farewell. See you all at work tomorrow. Here's the money for the first round of drinks—" She placed some bills on the table, lifted her hat off the hook and fit it snugly atop her head. Taylor smiled curtly, and waved. "Bye-bye. Oh, and I won't tell Mr. Boss man about the time you and Taub nicked his Vicodin and got high off of it. Funny story!" She gave Foreman the thumbs up and walked out of the pub.

"I don't know whether I like her…or not," Taub hiccupped, motioning the waitress over for the bill. He took one glance at it, cringed, and fished for his wallet.

"I like her," Chase announced, throwing his arms behind his head and leaning back into the seat. Foreman snorted, pulling out half the amount on the receipt.

"That's because you got a free meal and all the booze your heart desired," Foreman said, and coughed up his share of the bill.

"Yeah," Chase sprung out of his seat, and dressed himself for the cool September night. "See ya tomorrow."

Foreman and Taub watched Chase exit McNeillie's. Foreman stroked his beard, and leaned in to Taub, "You think he likes her?"

Taub shrugged, scooting out of the booth and began to put on his coat, "Wanna make a bet?"

XXXXXX

Cuddy ran her hand through her hair for the fifth time in a row within the last minute. It was pushing eleven; most everyone had already left for home. Except her, of course, the Dean of Medicine never sleeps. At least on Tuesday nights—especially on Tuesday nights when all the paper work was backed up from the weekend and mingled with Monday's paperwork. She tried reading through the document once more, but that she was able to process was "the patient suffered a complex…blah blah…treatment included…blah…medical jargon…blah."

"I can't read this," she whined, tossing the paper aside.

"Pity you didn't go to medical school. Actual doctors learn how to read." Cuddy looked up from her chair to where House had propped himself against the door way. He limped over to her desk, shuffled some of the paperwork over and sat down.

"This isn't funny," she said in a 'I'm-dead-serious' tone. House playfully picked up one of the papers and scrunched his face.

"I…wa…want…How-how-House…" He glanced over at her, the serious expression on his face not wavering. "To play…with…my…foon—ahem, I think that's wrong. _Fun_? Yeah, sound's right. _Funbags_. Wow. I never knew reading could be fun." He tossed the paper on the pile, and leaned in towards Cuddy. "Want me to read some more?"

"House," she warned, but there was laughter in her voice.

"I think she wants me to read more," House concurred. He leaned to his left and forward, kissing her neck.

"House—stop. I need to finish this," Cuddy attempted to argue, but he continued to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. "House. House? House… _GREG_!" The last one came in the form of a shout as she pulled away from him.

"What?" He asked sourly. House knew what was coming next—Chastising, threatening of losing his job followed by fifteen minutes of lecture—

"The door," Cuddy motioned to her office door, which was ajar. She rose from her chair, her stilettos making little sound against the carpet of her office and slid the door shut.

"No one is here, Lisa," House indicated.

"I'm just being safe."

"That's no fun." But his eyes were glued to her. Lately she had been substituting her usual low-cut shirts with something a little more modest. House frowned upon this, but today was nice because her blouse was white and underneath was easily seen through said blouse. "Dance for me, woman."

"Only in your dreams," she laughed, and walked over to him. She kissed him sweetly. Maybe he had been the idiot for all these years—choosing misery over Cuddy. He liked Cuddy a lot better. Even her bastard child was starting to grow on him a little. He had bought Rachel a tot piano and she had taken quite a likening to it. His thoughts dispersed when Cuddy started deepening the kiss, pulled off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"You think this is going to work?" House asked sincerely, pulling away from a brief moment. "I mean, that it will last?"

"Only if we make it work," Cuddy answered without much thought, tossing her shirt aside. She stood on her toes and kissed him on the forehead. "I want it."

"Me too." He held the small of her back, and started kissing her again. Both became absorbed in one another, oblivious to the sound of the door opening.

"I know you have a lot of papers already but—OH!"

House froze at the sound of the voice, cursing under his breath. _They had been so careful…_

"This is a bad time. Oh. Oh. I-I-I-I-really bad time. Yeah. I gotta go. Um, papers," Wilson stuttered in the door way, his eyes covered with one hand, definitely scared by what he had—or hadn't, seen. He dropped the papers on the floor. "Bye." And as soon Wilson had appeared, he had vanished.

Cuddy stifled a groan, burying her face deeply in her hands, attempting to hide her shame. She leaned against House and he wrapped his arms around her. "No more fun at work."

"You mean no more dropping your skirt and letting the head of diagnostics go exploring at work," House corrected. Cuddy half-laughed half-cried. "Well, we couldn't hide it forever. Now the whole hospital knows."

Cuddy removed herself from House, "Just Wilson."

"The whole hospital," House repeated. He fetched Cuddy's shirt—it had done a triple back flip onto a chair before landing the bronze. She gave him a look, and took her shirt back. "I'm serious—the whole hospital knows now."

The woman sighed, rubbing at her temples, "I know."

"Well, can't do anything about it now," House said in a sing-song voice and slapped Cuddy on the butt. "Your baby's asleep. Send the nanny home and let's pick up where we left off."

"Yeah…" Cuddy locked her office door behind them, having a gut-wrenching feeling about going into work tomorrow.

XXXXXX

A/N: Wow double wow. Almost 1:30 in the morning. And I have work tomorrow. Sorry kiddies, if you drown, I blame my small fanbase! (Just kidding). Hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was kind of long. I hadn't planned on it being so, but I had a lot of fun with it. Be kind and please rewind…er, leave a comment!


	4. Moving Forward

Cuddy's eyes shot open thirty minutes before they were supposed to. The pitter-patter sound of rain had woken her out of a light sleep. She lay perfectly still, listening to its soothing rhythm before turning on her side and resting her head on House's shoulder. His breathing was slow and deep and comforting. She always hated the brief moments before it was time to get up for the day. The forty three year-old woman glanced at the clock. It read four fifty-nine. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the alarm.

_**Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. **_The whiney noise emanated from the clock into the room in four eight-notes. House groaned from underneath her, shifting his weight. Cuddy's body, meanwhile, refused to move.

"Turn the damn thing off," he growled, pushing her off and buried himself under the covers. She sighed, reached over the cranky middle-aged man and flipped the switch on her clock. Cuddy hit her pillow with a definite thud, curling up against House under the covers, where it was warm. Out of the silence, his voice questioned her: "You going in late today?"

"Going in with you," she answered, not opening her eyes. House's alarm wouldn't go off for another hour or so. "The whole hospital knows. I'd rather not be alone when I go in."

House grunted in agreement, "Wilson gets to enjoy an extra hour of his last hours here on Earth." It was the last thing Cuddy heard before slipping back into sleep.

XXXXX

The rain had stopped by the time Cuddy and House had walked out the door. Fallen leaves were plastered to the ground, soaked with rain water. Despite protesting heavily, she found herself hopping on the back of House's motorcycle, clinging to him for dear life as they rode through the chilly autumn wind that morning. It was already the first of October, and Cuddy still needed to finish looking over her paper work from last night (the one that she had abandoned like a helpless child). House pulled into his parking spot, and no sooner had she removed her helmet, she spotted a nurse not more than twenty feet away ogling her. She felt House's arm wrap around her waist, and he gave the nurse a threatening look. The young woman quickly turned, briskly walking in the opposite direction towards the hospital entrance.

"Thank you," Cuddy said tiredly. She took House's hand and squeezed it.

House's face was still solemn, "That trick only works once." He pried his cane out of its holster, and the couple slowly made their way out of the parking lot and into Prince Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

A sea of heads turned. Everything became hushed: nurses, doctors, the janitor House always bribed—everyone had their eyes on them. It was as mortifying as Cuddy had imagined it. Many of her employees were huddled together in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. Cuddy closed her eyes, hoping the image would go away, then opened them. The image stuck.

"They can smell your fear, Cuddles," House whispered. He held his head high, strolling leisurely into the atrium. Taking a very statuesque position, he cleared his throat and banged his cane on the ground to silence the few who were still talking. House scowled. If looks could kill, the hospital would be severely short-handed for the next twenty years. "Yes, I slept with Lisa Cuddy. Yes, I will continue to sleep with Lisa Cuddy. No, it's none of your damn business and you'd best not talk about it or stare impolitely—unless you want to lose your job."

"Greg!" Cuddy hissed through her teeth, but House motioned to the hospital staff, who had begun bustling about their day like normal.

"Peculiar," House noted, "a lot of people value their jobs over the next bit of juicy gossip. What is this world coming to?" He limped over to the elevators. Cuddy followed closely behind him.

"You're just going to leave me?"

"Naw. Feel free to tag along. Wilson's head has a date with my cane. And let me tell you—that noggin' likes it rough."

XXXXX

Taylor sat cross-legged on the chair in House's office. He was not so surprisingly fifteen minutes late, and still not here. She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, the denim of her jeans pulling taut. The woman fished a PSP out of her lab coat pocket and switched it on. Her right hand groped for the cup on the table beside her. She brought her chai tea to her lips and surveyed the other end of the office from her perch: Taub was slumped forward, his head resting on the table. Foreman was attempting to read the morning paper. It took him six minutes and twenty three seconds (Taylor counted) before he gave up and told her was going to get coffee.

She just started her game when the swish of House's office door caught her attention. It was Chase. "G'morning," he greeted, sitting down at the table.

"Hey," Taylor answered. Chase ran a hand through his dark blond hair before he picked up the paper Foreman had been struggling with earlier and began reading.

"Playing anything interesting?" he asked.

"Reading anything interesting?"

"I just started," Chase indicated. Taylor looked up from her PSP.

"So did I." She died as she finished her sentence, and grumbled. "If you must know, I'm playing Crash Bandicoot."

"Wasn't that for the PS1?"

"It's called hacking, my friend," Taylor said. "You should get one. Oodles of fun. Everyone on the team should, and we can throw games nights and stuff."

"Sounds like a good idea." Taylor was confused by his statement, uncertain if Chase was being serious or not. Just as she was about to confirm, House hobbled into the office. He seemed to be in an abnormally bad mood, even for House. Taylor quickly shut off her portable game and stuffed it back into her pocket.

"New case: Forty-something-year-old man with an open, boyish face—he's barricaded himself in his office, the bastard," House stormed into his office. He hit Taub in the pack of the leg with his cane, and stood next to his white board. Taub feebly lifted his head. Foreman had returned with his coffee, and hesitantly entered the office.

Taylor scooted over to Chase, nudging him, "Who is he talking about."

"Wilson," Chase whispered. "He's House's best friend."

"You," said House, pointed his cane at Taub. "Have a massive hangover, you—" the cane was pointed at Foreman, now sitting down next to Taub, "are trying to conceal a hangover. Crocodile Dundee—" The cane was now pointed at Chase, "Are only slightly hung over and kid," Taylor was now staring down the end of his cane, "I'm not sure what you were doing last night, but you were probably with those three. If you want to keep your jobs you will get Wilson to open his office door so I may enter and promptly kick his ass."

"Why is House kicking his best friend's ass?" Taylor asked.

Chase sniggered, trying his best to conceal it, "Because Wilson has a big mouth and walked in on Cuddy and House."

"What?"

"Shh—" Chase elbowed her. House was walking over to them, opened his mouth to say something but Cuddy walked into the office.

"I've got a case for you," said Cuddy. She threw the file down on the table, folding her arms. "You talk to Wilson yet?"

"No," House furrowed his brow. His anger dissipated for a moment, moving his eyes from Taylor to Cuddy and back again. "Matching tops…you two could be sisters! Except you're old enough to be her mother—"

"House." There was venom in Cuddy's voice. "Get Wilson out of his office. Talk to him. Get him into _my_ office." She turned on her heel and stormed out of his office.

House screwed up his face, "Yikes." He turned back to his team, who sat there staring at him. "What are you looking at? We're hunting Wilsons. Sick!" House pointed his cane at the door dramatically. Taub and Chase filed out, leaving Foreman and Taylor in the room. "Black one, attack from behind!" House pointed his cane at the door behind his desk. Foreman rolled his eyes and exited the office. "Kid, you hold down the fort. I want ten possible diagnoses before I get back," House picked up the marker and tossed it to her. He faced the back door of his office, and held up his cane triumphantly before following Foreman.

Taylor stared at the marker, feeling unsettled from being abandoned. She shrugged, picked up the file, and sat down in House's chair, reviewing the symptoms and watching the scene outside. By the time she had wrote down four diagnoses, Foreman had successfully picked the lock, and House rushed into the office next door. Taylor eased out of the chair, and edged towards the back door, cracking it open ever so slightly. A loud scream, followed by the sound of things falling and colliding with one another erupted. A man with brown hair in a lab coat sprinted out of the door and headed straight for Taylor. She jumped back as he burst through the door. The man pushed the door shut as fast as possible and attempted to hold it as House rammed against the glass.

"I-don't-know-who-you-are-but-please, help me," the man pleaded in one quick string of words. Taylor looked up from the file, looked down, and began writing.

"You're Wilson?" Taylor inquired, not bothering to look up.

"Yes," he responded. "Why?"

"No reason," Taylor shrugged as she wrote down two more diagnoses. "I'm not supposed to help you, is all." Wilson looked mortified as the door opened and shut a few inches at constant intervals. Danielle's thick hair hung in her eyes, concealing the look of concern that was forming.

"Please?" Wilson implored. Taylor almost had a seventh possible illness, but she dismissed it. "Who are you even?"

"Taylor. I'm part of the diagnostic team as of recent," she informed him, adding a seventh diagnosis to her list. The sound of the door clabbering open and closed was growing louder. Wilson was sweating and his face was turning red. She chewed the end of her pen thoughtfully, listening to Wilson's body complain as he resisted the force of House and Foreman pushing on the door. "I'm guessing I can finish these before they break down the door. I heard what happened. You walked in on Cuddy and House? Now the whole hospital knows. Did you have a death wish?"

"No!" Wilson shouted and was thrown a foot before forcing the door shut. "It was really, really awkward. I didn't know how to react. Happy, confused—look, I only told a few people—"

"—then they told a few people, who told a few more people, who told that nurse on the third floor, who told everybody," Taylor finished, writing down one infection and one auto-immune disease. "three…two…one—"

House and Foreman successfully pushed the door open, sending Wilson staggering forward. The head of diagnostics was sweaty, panting, and incredibly livid as he reached out and grabbed Wilson by the scruff of the neck. Taylor glanced over her shoulder. Chase and Taub had returned, blocking the doorway leading to the hall.

"You are a dead man," House spat.

"I got eleven," Taylor informed House, holding up the clipboard. Her expression faltered, taking on a more serious nature. "I'm sure it's not to terribly important at the moment though." House nodded before dragging the oncologist to his doom.

"So." Taylor stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her shirt. The men were all slumped over in chairs, Taub with his head back down on the table. "Who wants to do the MRI?" There was a collective groan that filled the room. All the while Taylor wondered if the man named Wilson was still alive.

XXXXXX

"Yes, just a scoop of the dry food. And can you walk him too? Thanks, you're a life saver." Taylor hung up her cell phone and leaned against the wall. Their patient had slipped into a coma that afternoon, but there was something peculiar House had found. Thus he had assigned two of the team to pull an all-nighter (both she and Chase drew the short straws). Taylor was just about to head down to the observation room when she saw a familiar face walk down the hall.

"You're alive," Taylor teased. Though as he drew closer, she spotted a distinct, cane shaped welt over Wilson's left eye. He was disgruntled: messy hair, shirt un-tucked, and then Taylor noticed the limp.

"Define 'living'," Wilson replied, setting down his briefcase. "Cuddy gave me twenty hours of clinic duty for the next three weeks. By that I mean twenty hours per week."

"Ouch."

"Friday is nurse duty."

"Double ouch," Taylor remarked. "Any other punishments?"

"Besides the cane of justice cracking down on my skull? I'm pretty sure they're still crafting up some ideas," he said.

Taylor gave him a wistful smile. "Sorry."

"I need sleep," he sighed. The man picked up his belongings and left Taylor standing alone in the hallway. She eventually headed over to the elevators and found Chase building a card tower in the observation room. Taylor headed into the patients room, Chase following shortly behind her.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had to call my neighbor and ask him to take care of my dog." Taylor stretched a glove over her hand, then the other, and quickly check the patient for any signs of consciousness. She then rolled the man onto his side.

"You have a dog?" he asked. Taylor wheeled over the cart with her equipment.

"Yes I do. His name is Sydney," she started wiping iodine onto the patient's back with a sponge. Chase watched her as her arm made small circular motions, spreading the iodine. "You know, 'lumbar' is old Greek for 'man who raises patient's knees to chest while woman sticks needle in patient's spine'." Chase laughed and moved to the other side, adjusting the man into the correct position. "Thank you." The room was silent for a moment.

"Did you ever meet either of your birth parents?"

Taylor had almost inserted the needle, which probably would have paralyzed the guy because she nearly toppled over from the question. She glared at Chase, "You're very random, you know that?"

"Keeping it fresh," Chase explained. She ignored him, carefully pushing the needle in between the vertebrae. Once positioned, she began collecting the spinal fluid.

"Looks clean," Taylor noted, and with precise care removed the needle. She gently set the needle down on the tray, and began removing her gloves. "No, I didn't. Like I told everyone last night—it was a closed adoption."

"Aren't you even curious?" His blue-green eyes searched her for an answer.

"I _was_ curious—until I wasted a good chunk of my life looking for them. I had no clue where to start with my father. And my real mom, well," She removed her second glove, and returned the coma man on his back. Taylor sat back on the stool, absently staring at the EKG machine, watching the line of white light zig-zag as she collected her thoughts. "All I know is that she was young, unable to take care of me. Probably some stupid high school kid, but believe me—I check ever single high school within a five mile radius of Ann Harbor's hospital. Nothing."

"Why not try again?"

"Ok, tell me where to start," she snapped. Taylor gathered up her notebook and stopped back into the observation room. "Because clearly I'm not looking in the right place—I forgot that Peru is ten times as likelier than flipping through high school yearbooks."

Chase grabbed her arm, and she jerked around, staring at him. "Why are you here?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't speak if she wanted to at that moment, her bright blue eyes watering up. "I…" Taylor made a strong effort to compose herself. "I don't know. I haven't been home in five years. I haven't spoken with my mother in four. Not since the accident." Chase let go of her arm, and Taylor sat down. "I always wondered about my birth parents. Not because I wanted to find them and suddenly become one big happy family. I wanted to know. I wanted to know the part of me I still haven't found." She tightened her fits until the knuckles on her hand turned white. Chase watched her, finally sitting down.

"What if your mum wasn't a high school kid?" Chase suggested. He didn't speak directly at her; his gaze was distant, but slowly focusing. "What if…do you suppose she could have been in college?"

Taylor didn't speak for a moment. "You know, I actually never thought of that."

"Ann Arbor is where University of Michigan is yes? Dr. Cuddy's going there in a few weeks for a conference. Why don't you ask to tag along?"

"Like she'll seriously consider taking me with."

"It's worth a shot," Chase said. "I really don't know where you would look, but it's still a chance to search."

Taylor bit her lip. If there was any remote chance at seeing either one of her parent's faces…

"I'll do it."


End file.
